One Shot Series
by BrixtaSparks
Summary: A short one shot that I began, so this might be it, it might now be. I personally think that it's pretty funny.
1. Chapter 1

One Shot Series #1: GO SHOOT YOURSELF!

"This is shit! Why can't we all just go home! I could be doing things that are way more important than this crap!" A solider in colbalt colored armor complained as he fiddled with his sniper rifle.

A second solider attempted to console the first, "It is fine, Church. We could always go and visit those nice guys in red!"

Church laughed incredulously, "And why the fuck would we want to do something as insane as that? Hell, we might as well just wear signs on our fucking backs that say 'Please shoot me now! I'm free game!' Trust me Caboose, we are _**fighting **_against the reds! As in they're our _**enemies**_!"

The one named Caboose stood still, his breathy voice riddled with doubt. "I do not know, whenever I go to visit them, they always give me free bullets."

"Let me ask you one small question, Caboose."

"Question me away."

Sighing, Church slowly began to shake his head. "Okay, when they're 'giving you free bullets', are they firing them from their weapons?"

"What is a weapon?"

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?" Church screamed and felt like bashing his helmeted head up against one of the stoned walls of the Blue Base. "Caboose, please tell me that you're joking!"

"Joking about what?"

He screamed again, "WE'RE BACK AT SQUARE FUCKING ONE AGAIN! WHY DID YOU EVEN JOIN THE ARMY?"

Almost as though this were new information to him, Caboose gasped, "We are in the army? Has my mom sent me a care package yet?"

"You were dropped on your head a lot as a baby, weren't you?" Church asked sarcastically.

"Uh...maybe?"

"That's the smartest thing that I've ever heard you say, Caboose. It's actually something that makes the slightest bit of sense!"

"I like cookies!"

"And then it's over." He became more aware of the rifle in his hands, about how quickly he could be rid of Caboose's stupidity. Yet, he thought better. He'd never been the best when it came to firing accuracy, and that in the end, not only would he still have Caboose to put up with, but he'd also no have any ammunition to end his own life...If he got desperate enough. "Damn it, there really is no way out of this mother fucking war is there?"

Walking over to stand beside Church, Caboose set a hand on his shoulder, "Atleast you still have me, my bestest buddy."

Out of habit, Church pushed away the hand. "Then do me a favor would you?"

With much excitement, the rather stupid solider in blue, clapped his hands together, "Oh! Anything for you, Church!"

"GO AND FUCKING SHOOT YOURSELF!"

"That does not make much sense. If I do what you just told me to do...then that would leave you with no one but Tucker!"

"So? Atleast he's got more than one brain cell that works!"

Whispering, Caboose whined, "But I do not like Tucker..."

"And that's my problem, how?"

Church..." Lowering his voice even more, he barely breathed out his next words, "I think he loves you..."

By now, Church had learned to not pay any attention to the stupid nonsense that Caboose spouted, but still, ever so often, he could not contain his surprise. "That's nice, Caboos-Wait WHAT?"

"It is true! I have seen it with my own four eyes! He is always looking at you!"

"But that doesn't mean that he's fucking in love with me! He's my subordanate, Caboose! He's got to understand my god damn orders! Do you know what needs to be done, in order for someone to understand orders?"

Thinking as hard as his challenged brain could, Caboose was silent for a moment, then with a rush of energy, and a whole lot of confidence, he exclaimed, "I know! When a mommy and a daddy love each other..."

"WHY DO I EVEN FUCKING BOTHER?"

"Because you love me?"

Sarcasm coated Church's next words thickly, "That's right...it's because I love you..."

"Yay! But do you love me more than Tucker?"

Restraining himself from murdering Caboose right then and there, Church muttered through gritted teeth, "Where _is_ Tucker?"

"He wanted me to tell you that he was seeing Tucker Jr. today."

"Wait...He fucking told you to tell me?"

"Possibly..."

"And you're just now telling me this?"

"Could be..."

"That he's gone to see that mother fucking alien spawn of his?"

"I don't remember..."

"Caboose..." Church said as he was surpressing the burning rage that he had inside, "Do everyone a favor and finally shoot your god damn self!"

Caboose sighed, and asked, "Does Church need a hug?"

"NO! What I need is to find Tucker!" Church yelled as he walked to the exit of the Blue Base. "He'll help me murder your fucking ass!"

"Can I come?"

With a final attempt against Caboose, Church yelled out, "NO! STAY HERE!"

Caboose, however, followed behind Church just like a faithful, idiotic watch dog...that would attack its owner, rather than attack the enemy.


	2. Chapter 2

One Shot Series #2: Sandwiches and Target Practice

"Are we there yet? Are we there yet?" Caboose asked repeatedly as he followed closely behind Church. "Hey Church..."

Stopping dead in his tracks, and with his patience nearly shot to hell, Church rounded on Caboose, and finally went off. "NO WE ARE NOT FUCKING THERE YET, YOU INCOMPETENT DUMB ASS! SO JUST SHUT YOUR MOTHER FUCKING GOD DAMN MOUTH, AND EVERYTHING WILL BE HUNKY-FUCKING-DORY!"

Tilting his head to one side, Caboose sniffled.

"What the hell are you crying about?"

"I was just going to say that before we left, I made some sandwiches, and I was going to see if you wanted yours now..." He continued to sniffle, his voice even more breathy than usual.

Church was taken aback, "You made us sandwiches? Well," he began to feel awkward, he'd never really been nice to Caboose before, "what'd you put on them?"

Snapping out of his depression instantly, Caboose proudly said, "Well I made them out of sand, and I could not find any witches, so just sand!"

It really had been too good to be true. There was absolutely no way that Caboose could make an edible meal.

Never.

Not even cereal.

"No...no thanks, uh...I think I'll pass this time." Church turned back around, and they both continued on their way.

"Hey, Grif, what are the blues doing?" A solider in maroon armor asked, he wasn't used to not knowing something. And he watched as his normally lazy comrad in orange, peered through the scope of a sniper rifle.

"Alright, Simmons, first this is first, back te fuck away from me! I'm not Sarge, so kissing my ass is not going to work! And I'm also not Donut! Who I know would love to have you as close to him as I hate having you to me!" Grif said in an angry tone.

Simmons then finally noticed that he had been standing so close to Grif that there was absolutely no space between them. "Oh shit!" He jumped back, landing nearly three feet away. "Why the fuck didn't you say anything sooner?"

Groaning, Grif raged, "I MOTHER FUCKING DID! You just had your god damn head up someone's ass, like usual! And it's obvious that Sarge has whipped you so damn well, that he's trained you to fucking ignore every word that I say!"

"Whatever! Just what are the blues doing?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know? What I DO know is that the dumb one made sandwiches! And I love me a mother fucking sammich!" Setting down the rifle, Grif walked over to the ramp that led from the top of the Red Base, and down to the ground level. But when he got all the way down the ramp, he came face to face with a solider in bright red armor. The commanding officer of the Red team that had been stationed at Blood Gulch Outpost Number One.

Sarge. A man who had been hell-bent on making every breath that Grif took, to be his very last one. "Slacking on the the job again, Grif? You do realize that right now is the start of the Red teams daily target practice? And without a target, how are we going to be able to practice? I'm ashamed in you, solider!"

With a small laugh, Grif stated the obvious, "Like that's anything new!"

Simmons stood at attention, his hand pressed against his forehead as he saluted his superior. "Permission to rat Grif out, Sir?"

"Permission to rat out this yellow-bellied slacker is always permitted, Private!"

"Thank you, Sir!" Simmons remained at attention, and spoke with much respect. "Grif here was about to abandon his post to go and ask the blue for a sandwich!"

Under his breath, Grif whispered to Simmons, "You cock sucking pussy!"

Unable to pass up a fresh opportunity to get Grif in trouble, Simmons added, "And he just called me a 'cock sucking pussy', I suggest that we throw him into the brig! What he's done is multiple attempts at mutiny!"

Sarge nodded his head in agreement with Simmons' suggestion, "Good idea, Private. Unfortunately, Command didn't gear up with a brig..."

"WHAT? Let me get this right! You were going to throw me into a mother fucking brig, all because of a sandwich?" Grif asked in doubt, and then after a moment of thinking, said, "Oh yeah, I shouldn't have expected anything less while I'm surrounded by a bunch of pricks like you!"

Ignoring Grif, Simmons suggested, "Sir, maybe the blues have learned that Grif is nothing but a glutton. They could have been counting on him falling for their bait of free food, knowing that it would lure him out."

Grif scoffed at Simmons' logical thinking, "Let me clear one fucking thing up, you must be confusing me with someone else. I'm not a glutton! I've often been compared to a humming bird! Meaning that I'm both graceful, and that I eat somall portions! In other words, I'm a mother fucking ballerina, bitches!"

"Then let's see a pirouette, princess! A plie? A complete performance of 'Swan Lake'? Come on, Grif, all of this should be simple for a ballerina of your expertise." Sarge jeered, his intent not to have Grif prove that he was an actual ballet professional, but rather to embarrass the orange Private.

Yet Grif remained unscathed by Sarge's patronizing words. "You know what, Sir, I'm on my break right now. So I don't have to do a fucking thing for you!"

"I'm docking your pay byy fifty percent. Simmons, send that to Command, and they'll make it official." Sarge threatened, a smile on his lips that was hidden by the visor that was attached to his helmet.

"WHAT? You can't-You can't fucking do that, Sarge!" Grif contested.

With a gruff snicker, he asked, "You wanna bet on that, Private?"

Grif had finally been defeated, "Tell me what I need to do, Sir..."

"Get ready for target practice! And you better make that on the double! We're behind schedule!" Sarge ordered, and was pleased that he'd achieved in making Grif's life a living hell, yet again. And with a slight turn to Simmons, he happily whispered, "Continue on with sending that request to Command."

"Yes, Sir!"

As Grif tried to paint a bull's-eye onto his back, he couldn't help but think that even the blue's couldn't possibly have it off as bad as he did.


	3. Chapter 3

One Shot Series #3: What Would Command Think?

"So how has living on your own been, Junior?" The solider in the cyan armor asked, all the while looking down at the small creature that he'd grown to love, to miss and to even acknowledge as his son.

Tucker Jr.

The six inch tall turquoise alien peered back up at his father, and opeing his mouth, he answered as best as he could. "Blarg!"

Laughing, Tucker averted his gaze back up towards the blue sky, his eyes tracking the slow moving clouds. "I know...But you've done well on your own! Better than how I could've raised you...what without a woman to back me up..."

"Blarg chicka honk honk!" Out of all the traits that Tucker Jr. could've inherited from his father, he had been born with the same great love of women.

"Yeah, bow chicka bow wow!" He thought for a few seconds, and when he'd thought enough, he got down on his knees, looking not quite at the same level as his son, but more so than he had been before. "You know, it's hard to believe that I gave birth to you nearly a full year ago! I can't say, though, that I clearly remember that day...but it was probably the coma tat got me through the excrutiating pain..."

Hopping from one foot to the other, the little alien showed that he was obviously happy. "Blarg blarg honk!"

Reaching out to pat his son gently on the head, Tucker heard rustling coming from some near by bushes. Quick to react, he pulled out his glowing, double bladed sword, which almost resembled a tuning fork.

"Stay right here, little man! Daddy's got some asses to pound!" Was all that Tucker whispered before he quietly bounded for the bushes.

However, a pair of familiar voices, stopped him from even attacking. "God damn it, Caboose! Why the fuck did you even make us come up this path? Tucker isn't even here!"

"It looked like it was fun, Church...I also thought that one of these rocks were talking...making it seem logically right..."

Church sighed, "Why did I even ask? I mean I've been working with your team killing, idiotic methods of thinking for how many fucking years?"

With both hands, Caboose began to count, one finger at a time. "...three...four...five...s..."

"Blarg?" Tucker Jr. asked quietly as he walked up and stood next to Tucker.

So nodding his head, the alien's dad whispered back, "Yeah, that's your old baby bottle...Wanna say hello?"

Not even waiting to answer, Jr. dove straight into the bushes, and was closely followed by terrified voices.

"AH! FUCK! FUCK! WE'RE UNDER ATTACK! WHERE'S MY PISTOL? GOD DAMN IT! I FORGOT MY FUCKING PISTOL!" Church screeched, the pitch of his voice continuously rising in fear.

"You have your rifle, Church." Caboose suggested as helpfully as he could. He himself had been forbidden to carry any weapon with more power than a water gun.

Or at least, while he was in such a close proximity with Church.

"Yeah, Caboose, that would work...IF WE WEREN'T BEING ATTACKED FROM CLOSE RANGE!"

Quietly, Caboose said, "Ohhh, yeah!" A few seconds later, he cried out in pain, "Church...Church...I am so sorry...Why are you giving me free bullets inside of my arm?"

Confused, Church asked, "What are you talking about? I mean, yeah, I'd absolutely love killing you, or pawning you off to the reds...but right now...at this moment, I'm doing neither of those two things!"

Tucker speaking up, called out to his fellow blues. "You fucktards! Jr. just wanted to say hello to his favorite uncles! Uncle Church, and Uncle Caboose! I get the feeling that Uncle Caboose is is top favorite, he gave his nephew food, while Church attempted to give him death."

Screaming not in fear, but out of rage, Church fumed, "TUCKER? GOD DAMN IT, YOU MOTHER FUCKER! WHY IN HELL DIDN'T YOU SAY ANYTHING SOONER?"

As Church yelled, Caboose looked at his 'newphew', his breathy voice free of all previous panic. "I am your favorite Uncle?"

"Honk!" Tucker Jr. replied as he bit at Caboose's arm again to prove it.

Happiness filled his heart, "I am so honorable! Ow...Okay I am not so honorable! Help! I am revisiting a really bad memory that I do no want to visit!"

"Tucker, get your fucking spawn off of Caboose!"

"Bow chi-" Tucker began but quickly cut his own sentence off. "Fuck! What is wrong with me? Not the right moment! Hey, Jr. leave Uncle Caboose along, you've worked your way up to solid food, haven't you?"

"Blarg!"

"Yeah, dude, leave him alone! Believe it or not, he actually serves a purpose in this war!"

Finally emerging from the bushes, Church complained, "Why didn't you tell me yourself that you were going to see your abomination?"

"Hey I told Caboose to tell you! Eh," he looked at the ground.

"Just realized how dumb that plan sounded?"

Tucker groaned, "Fuck yes! I don't know what the hell I was thinking!"

"I do that every time that I have a thought. Which is why I ignore all of the thoughts that I have." Caboose admitted proudly.

And in unison, Church along with Tucker said, "We know, Caboose...We know..."

"I wonder what Blue Command would do if they realized what completely worthless soliders we are?" Tucker asked, it had been a question that he and Church had though on more than one occassion.


End file.
